I Just Wish I Was There Before
by Lexii5297
Summary: He smiles momentarily at the image before it promptly fades when his cruel mind reminds him that this wasn't the result of a drunken night; this was the result of cancer, the disease stealing his brother's life away. Sick!Dean Protective/Guilty!Sam


**I Just Wish I Was There Before…**

**Summary:**

"**Come on Dean, you have to keep going. You have to fight." **

"**What if I don't want to fight anymore Sammy?"**

**Disclaimer: **

**Don't own. If I did, well, they would never be allowed to wear shirts. Ever.**

**A/N:**

**Lexii Here!**

**Firstly, I have to say just how hesitant I am in uploading this. I rarely write anything like this, especially something's that's actually relatively personal to myself. I'm not one to emotionally attach myself into what I write, but with this story you'd be surprised on how many similarities and certain aspects of this story, such as the emotion, reactions, thoughts, dialogue and even the effects of the illness itself are actually coming from my own personal experiences, and not with just with the one illness being presented in this. **

**Of course I have tried to manipulate all these personal experiences into each of the boy's point of view and beloved characteristics if they were to be in this very situation I have placed them in, and although at times they may seem out of character, I still hope I do them justice for you all.**

**I hope you do enjoy reading this, and if you have any questions don't hesitate to comment or PM me and also remember; if you think this is good enough reviews would be cherished! I did put in my heart and soul into this, so any kind of feedback; positive or constructive would be so appreciated! **

**Also, I'm sorry for those waiting for me to update my other stories; it's just no matter how hard I tried to focus myself on them this just over took everything, and once I started I couldn't stop! Now that this is done and dusted I can freely work on my others! **

**AU Season One **

**Hope You Enjoy!**

**-Lexii xo**

**I Just Wish I Was There Before…**

For two years all they shared were short, insignificant phone calls; received every few months, lasting no longer than ten obnoxious minutes and saying no more than a few sentences each.

For the first year the calls were fuelled with anger and resentment, rotating from indignation to desperation in yet another feasible attempt in trying to con the younger sibling back into the world he clearly no longer wanted to be a part of.

For that first year the younger brother avoided those calls as often as possible, inwardly cringing whenever the name of his elder brother flashed on the caller I.D and he reluctantly chose to purposely ignore those calls, hoping his elder brother had finally decided to accept the fact that he wasn't ever going back into that life, that he was happy where he was.

His older brother didn't accept it.

After six months of the first year, and only a handful of phone calls that had actually been answered, his older brother tried a new tactic.

Instead of the fierce demandingness and the argumentative and confrontational method he had been implying on his younger brother, he tried to be subtle; falling into his 'smart ass' categorical characteristic by making miscellaneous jokes, reminiscing about their successful hunts and bringing forth the '_what ifs'_ of what may come to be if his brother had decided to stay, or even decided to come back into the family business.

As the younger brother continued to stubbornly ignore his older brother's calls, it soon got to the point where his older brother purposely called non-stop, over and over again until his younger brother reluctantly answered the phone.

They would slowly catch up, starting with the usual and casual 'heys' and 'hellos' before the younger brother always managing to promptly end the short conversation with any illegitimate he could muster on the spot; 'he was busy studying,' 'he was about to go to sleep' 'his battery was running low'; the whole works. A pang of guilt would momentarily stab the younger sibling when he heard his older brother sighing in defeat, the sigh screaming that the older brother knew that whatever excuse the younger sibling had chosen to use was nothing but a complete and utter lie.

However, six months into the second year, the phone calls were different. There was no more begging or pleading for him to return back to the family business. No, these calls were much different, practically begging the younger sibling to drop everything and come on some sort of 'road trip' as his brother had dubbed it. The younger brother stubbornly refused, knowing that the term 'road trip' was just undoubtedly some alias his elder brother and father had decided to use instead of 'hunting trip'.

If only he knew better.

He would continue to ignore the phone calls that came from his brother, even resulting in turning his phone off if he had to. He would vaguely listen to his older brother's messages before promptly deleting them, not wanting anything more to do with his life before Stanford; that including his older brother.

And then one day, the phone calls stopped.

-x-

It's the middle of the night when his phone rings.

The warm Californian air causes his long bangs to draft thoroughly onto his forehead, his dark locks standing up like a wild uncontrollable beast as his head quickly shoots up from his disturbed slumber. Blindlessly he gropes around for his cell phone on the bedside table, his eyelids squinted and heavy as his face is slightly illuminated by the red digital numbers on the alarm clock reading 3:26 a.m.

"Ello?" he asks hoarsely, fatigue making it difficult to focus and form the words in his mind.

"_Sam?"_ His eyelids fly open as his mind recognises the voice he hadn't heard in years. The unanticipated call immediately banishes the fatigue from his body in a wave, his senses high and alert as the voice triggers the hunter instincts that had been programmed in his mind since a young age to unconsciously presents themself.

"Bobby?" He asks for clarification, his tone spiked with surprise.

"_Yeah son, uh, are you able to talk?_" The older hunter asks wearily.

Sam sits up and throws his long limbs off the bed. Sighing deeply he pinches the bridge of his nose roughly as he hears the sleeping figure beside him moan as she begins to awake from her interrupted slumber. He sighs deeply once more, cursing at himself for actually believing that the life before Stanford wouldn't eventually catch up to him. "Look Bobby…it's late…and.."

"_It's about Dean. I'm worried._" The older hunter interrupts, his usual gruff tone cased with concern and worry.

Sam curses under his breath and trudges out of the room, not wanting to risk his sleeping girlfriend from hearing anything this conversation may hold.

"What's up Bobby?"

"_Have you heard from him? Dean?_" the older hunter asks quickly, a new sense of hope tinging his tone.

"No, I haven't..." he admits hesitantly, his forehead creasing as he tries to pinpoint the last time he had actually spoken to his older brother. "Why? What's up?"

"_No one knows where he is Sam. He hasn't been heard from for months."_ The elder hunter rambles._ "There's no evidence that he's been hunting, or that he's dead. He just left me a voicemail a months ago tellin' me not to worry, and just disappears off the fucking radar… Fucking idjit. How the fuck am I not supposed to worry when everytime I call him it says the number been disconnected and nobody's heard from him in over half a year?!" _

And at that moment Sam knew something was wrong.

It wasn't like Dean to go off the radar. Sam, yes. Dean, no. Never. Dean lived to hunt. Dean _loved_ to hunt and protect the world from the supernatural monsters out there. He wouldn't just drop everything and disappear; especially without contacting somebody. Dean knew how unnerving it was to try and convince oneself that the belated and unanswered phone calls didn't mean that they weren't going to arrive home safe and unharmed, and he always tried to prevent having to share the burden he had been made to suffer when he was a mere child with any other soul.

"I…I haven't spoken to him in a long time Bobby." he inwardly winces, realising just how horrible it sounds.

"_Balls." _The older hunter curses, and Sam can practically envision him either rubbing his beard in frustration, or pulling off his worn and faded cap and ruffling his thinning and greying hair.

"I'm sure he's fine, you know Dean; he's probably shacked up with some girl or just really deep in a case…" he tries to reassure, not only for the older hunter but primarily for himself. He runs his free hand roughly over his face, trying to rid the dread settling in the pit of his stomach. "But, uh, I'll do some research or something to see if I can find track him down or something, okay? Maybe, look for some alias' he might have used, credit card records, see if someone's reported seeing the Impala somewhere…" he mumbles more to himself as his mind runs rabid trying to find some sort of logical explanation to explain Dean's disappearance; ignoring the small possibility in his mind that suggested his older brother was no more.

"_Okay son. Give me a call if you find something?"_

"Okay Bobby." Sam sighs before he hangs up the phone. He sinks into the nearest chair, suddenly finding himself physically exhausted; his breath jagged and limbs weak, one thought repeating over and over again in his mind;

_Where the fuck was Dean._

-x-

His fingers dance rapidly across the keyboard, his face etched with determination and concentration as he continues to stare at the laptop screen, typing in code after code.

It takes him all but twenty minutes to hack into his phone's voicemail, easily accessing every single voicemail he had ever given, received or deleted.

The agitation grows in his whole body as he continues to scroll down the list, the nauseating feeling in his stomach multiplying as the dates continue to decrease rapidly before his eyes; without his brother's number being seen.

One month; two months; three months; four.

When he finally sees his brother's number become present on the screen he wants to scream in victory, but then the rejuvenating and satisfying feelings get scoured away as the guilt settles and his blood runs cold when he finally notices the date of the voicemail.

Seven months.

The last call was seven months ago.

Seven fucking months.

He swallows deeply as he stares numbly at the file before him. He shakes his head quickly and vigorously, trying to keep his mind focused on trying to find Dean, and not the whirlwind of emotions ripping him maliciously apart on the inside.

He hovers the mouse over the file, and inhales deeply before promptly giving into the hesitation of his mind and double clicks on the file.

"_Hey Sammy…"_ his brother's voice speaks through the laptop speakers, sending an array of goosebumps that attack the younger brother's flesh. "_It's me, Dean? Remember me? Your big bro? The one who used to change your toxic diapers?"_ the small chuckle his brother gives causes the bile to rise in the younger sibling's throat at the haunting realisation that he's heard this voicemail before hits him. "_So, uh…"_ his brother's cocky voice drops into an emotionless tone. "_You made it pretty clear that you weren't interested in that road trip….or even my calls. So, uh, I just thought I'd let you know I'm not gunna bother you anymore in your new life with these phone calls you obviously don't want."_ He pauses momentarily, and exhales deeply, his voice now slightly tinged with a small amount of desperation "_But uh, if you do decided you want to spend some time with your big bro…you'll know where to find me, I'll be home okay? I'll, uh, wait as long as I can…But I know you'll regret it if you don't…Hope to see you soon Sammy."_

He stares numbly at the laptop screen, all that can be heard is the constant chastising of his mind, cursing the younger sibling for how he never picked up or took notice of his brother's uncharacteristic words, how he never picked up on the desperation that coated his tone, or how he didn't even give a second thought to the fact Dean had decided to extinguish himself from his younger's brother's life and just accepted it; as if he didn't care, as if not having his older brother in his life meant nothing to him.

He exhaled a shaky breath; physical evidence to prove that his brother's words had chilled him to the core and that they did actually affect him, that his brother actually _did_ mean something.

He replays the voice mail over and over again, processing and analysing every single words his brother breathes, noting the changes in his tone, mentally envisioning the facial features Dean's chiselled face would morph into and listening for basically anything that could help assist finding where his brother had disappeared to.

As the time continues to tick by he can't help but feel more and more frustrated by the minute by his brother's pretentious behaviour and ability to provide minimal amount of information and just assuming that Sam would know what his words meant.

What the hell did his brother's words mean?!

"_You'll know where to find me." "I'll wait as long as I can." "You'll regret it if you don't."_

Of course only Dean had the ability to make Sam feel like an absolute guilt ridden dick, whilst adding this extra nauseating mixture of trepidation and fear battling in the pit of his stomach with less than twenty fucking words.

How the hell was he supposed to know where the hell his brother would be?! Knowing Dean he'd be shacked up in some motel or abandoned building on the prowl for some pie, beer and some willing girl to cure his sexual desires.

How the hell was he supposed to know where 'home' was?! Home to Dean is, and always has been whatever motel or abandoned building their father dragged them to when they were younger, and even then he never called any of them home. The last time Dean called a place home was when he was four years…

Sam pauses; his eyes growing wide as the realisation to where 'home' was mercilessly slaps him across the face. He ignores the urge to smack himself in the head for his obliviousness and stupidity as he scrambles from his seat, scribbling a vague note to his sleeping girlfriend that there was an emergency and he would be gone for a few days and he would explain later.

He doesn't bother packing any clothing or travel items; he just grabs his wallet, laptop and car keys and speeds out the front door.

He was going home.

-x-

**Lawrence, Kansas.**

He stands infront of the wooden door of his former childhood home, his limbs stiff and sore from the twenty seven hour drive with only less than four hours sleep under his belt. He twists and turns the fabric of his shirt so fiercely he feels the circulation in his fingers being cut off more than once.

He hears scuffling on the opposite side on the door and swallows hard, trying to prepare himself; for what he was unsure of, but with the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that had continues to grow ever since he had heard that voice mail message, he knew it was anything but good.

"Sammy!" the stranger with a familiar face breathes happily, his faded emerald eyes igniting at the figure before him, bringing them back to life. A smile crept on his face, making his hallowed cheeks and unnatural anaemic tinged skin to become more apparent on his skeletal like face; and at that moment Sam wants to be sick.

He barely notices the thin, fragile arms wrap around himself in his dazed state, until he found himself stumbling into the green eyed man's embrace. His breath gets caught in his throat as his chin grazes against the bony shoulder blade, his limbs limp at his side as his mind runs rabid trying to process the frail condition of his once strong brother.

"I knew you'd manage to find me…"

Those hushed words trail down his neck, causing his skin to crawl at the weakened whisper. He closes his eyes tightly shut as he feels the vile tighten around his heart at the words, guilt and shame finally starting to mercilessly creep up to him without a single hint of sympathy.

He shuns those feelings away momentarily, as he too wraps his arms around his long lost brother, finally returning the embrace his brother had initiated. He couldn't stop his body from trembling at the feeling of his brother's skeletal like body as it presses against his own, inwardly wincing when he realises he could still feel his brother's ribs protruding through what Sam had observed was at least three different layers of clothing.

Dean feels the slight trembling of his little brother's body against his own and promptly pulls away from the embrace, masking his sudden movement with a few playful pats on his baby brother's back.

He could barely handle seeing the pain flash on his brother's face the moment he saw what Dean had wasted away to, let alone actually feeling the pain and shock radiating through his brother at his deteriorated appearance.

"Took ya time though! Was almost scared you wouldn't make it in time." He remarks freely, his tone fun and teasing in an attempt to lighten the dwelling mood. Though he knew he had failed when he watches his younger brother quickly advert his gaze to the ground, not even daring to look at Dean as the hard, painful truth of his words shot through him.

Sam wraps his arms around himself, tightening them as he unconsciously seeks for some kind of comfort to ease the worry and dread hallowing his insides at the sight of the frail character infront of him.

"In time for what?" He whispers absentmindedly, his emotionless face immediately morphing into a painful grimace as he curses at himself for even allowing the words to unconsciously slip past his lips before he could stop them.

Dean allows a soft, almost apologetic smile drift across his face as he watches the gears slowly turn in his younger brother's mind, bringing forth a painful tug at his heart as he notes the broken and lost expression etched into his younger brother's facial features.

"Come on in Sammy." He says in a hushed whisper, ignoring the question he wished he never had to answer as he stiffly moves his aching body to the right and allows the door to open furtherer, allowing enough room for his younger brother to enter their former childhood home.

Sam stares numbly at the space Dean has allowed, his mind screaming at him to turn around and run, run as far away from the fragile and frail stranger standing before him; before this new version of his elder brother erases the strong and fearless image of Dean, the overly protective, valiant, smartass of a brother that he had been looking up to since he was a mere four years old.

The screams become louder in his mind, telling him to run from the guilt and shame that rapidly grows inside of his chest, attacking his soul and cursing his mind for his selfish and incompetent behaviour that ultimately resulted into abandoning the brother who had dedicated his entire childhood and life into providing for Sam's every desire and need.

And what had Sam done for Dean in the time he obviously needed him the most?

Nothing.

He did nothing.

Oh God.

He didn't deserve to be here.

Dean didn't deserve him to be here.

His mind runs rabid once more, trying to conduct some sort of liable explanation as to why he never picked up the phone, never bothered to randomly check in with his older brother and make sure he was okay.

He clearly wasn't okay.

He was anything but okay.

Thousands of potential apologies floods his mind, painstakingly slow at first, then accelerating at such a rate they were nothing but a jumbled blur as they flashed in his mind.

"Sammy…'

His head jerks upwards as the weakened voice of his older brother interrupts his racing mind. His clouded dark brown eyes met with the emerald orbs that were staring intently at him, spiralling with nothing but concern and worry.

"Are you okay?"

He laughs at the irony.

Here Dean was; his skin deathly pale, his eye sockets dark and cadaverous, his cheeks hollow, causing his cheek bones to protrude and become more prominent on his skeletal like face. He leant against the wooden door as if it were the only thing keeping him upright and preventing him from collapsing onto the ground at any given moment. His weight had dropped beyond the point of anorexic; a majority of his bones could be seen through his paper thin flesh, and the worn leather jacket he had worn for as long as Sam could remember now draped across his thin and frail body, obviously at least three sizes too big.

Here Dean was looking like a literal skeleton and he was worried about _Sam_?

"Sammy? Are you okay?'' his brother's voice asks once more, drifting into his mind and jerking him back into the present world.

"It's Sam!" he snaps unconsciously, the hostility in his voice and body recoils when he notes the sudden jerk of weakened body before him at his rough tone, and he mentally kicks himself even more when he realises that weakened body now belonged to Dean. "I mean…Sammy's a chubby twelve year old…" he stutters, suddenly finding it difficult to form simple words and explanations at his numb mouth.

"Whatever _Sammy_." Dean laughs, purposely empathising Sam's hated childhood nickname. "Now, you gunna come in or just stand out there all night?" He asks sarcastically, trying to suppress the desperation that continued to build inside of him.

His mind screams at him once more to run as he stares at the darkened interior of the house, a new unsettling feeling settles in the pit of his stomach, causing the bile to slowly rise up his oesophagus. He glances unsurely at his older brother for a quick second, immediately noticing the desperation etched into his face and swallows hard, holding back the tears that are numbly forming in his eyes and the constant scolding of his mind, he finally steps through the door of their former childhood home.

His eyes search the interior of the house, and although there is hardly any furniture incorporating it, it stills feels like _home_. For some reason he finds himself desperately begging his mind for any forgotten memories of his life…_before that night_. Back when they were nothing but an average American family taking pleasure in the simple things. But as predicted, his mind comes up blank, and he suddenly feels inadequate in this house, as if he didn't belong, as if he _never_ belonged.

"I promised myself I'd never come back here." Dean whispers behind him, closing the front door slowly before following Sam's gaze around the room. His cracked lips turn upwards into a soft and genuine smile as some fond and relinquished childhood memories resurface in his mind briefly, disintegrating a few short seconds later as they transform into memories of _that night_, the smile fading as quickly as it had appeared.

"Then…why?" Sam asks as he turns to face his older brother, all questions for the reason of his sickly appearance momentarily forgotten as the painstaking curiosity grew. "Why did you come back?"

"Because…I knew it'd be the only place you'd know to look." Dean says emotionless as he attempts to shrug, failing to perform the simple movement from the stiffness of his shoulders.

Sam drops his gaze to the wooden floor, biting his lower lip in a feasible attempt to stop the guilt from continuing to form inside of him.

The faint sound of shuffling interrupts his self-vindictive thoughts and he stares numbly as he watches his older brother grasp onto any available item of furniture or wall that was in his reach to help drag himself into the conjoining kitchen without falling.

He continues to watch his brother struggle to simple walk the short distance, his mind screams at him to go _help, _to go do _something_. And he wants to, God he wants to, but the shock of witnessing his brother fail to perform the simplest of tasks makes his body freeze in its place. He can feel his blood literally running cold in his veins, and suddenly all his limbs feel numb.

He watches with wide eyes, the raw pain obviously present in them as they briefly clouds with tears. His mind refuses to do anything but to scream and scold at him to help, to do fucking a_nything_; but his mind also refuses to develop a method to calm its demands.

He doesn't know what the fuck to do.

It is only when his older brother collapses in the chair closest to the refrigerator that his mind suddenly switches back on, and he feels himself being stabbed in the chest as he observed the drastic change in Dean's appearance since he opened the front door only minutes ago.

The short distance of merely a few metres is obviously taking its toll on his older brother as Sam watches him running a hand over his forehead to remove the sweat that had coated his skin as he struggles to stabilise his erratic breathing. He thought Dean's skin couldn't possibly get anymore paler, but now he could literally see the reminiscences of the colour of his skin wash away, leaving an even more deathly colour on his face.

It was like Dean had participated in a fucking marathon, not a fifteen metre walk.

Sam staggers over, losing his footing more than once as his mind swirls in his skull and black specs invade his vision. He finally collapses in the opposing chair across from Dean, silently grateful he was even able to make it.

"There's a lot of conflicting memories with this place ya know?" Dean comments, as he reaches over and pulls two beers out from the fridge before sliding one across the table to Sam. "I mean, watching one of your parent's die isn't something you get over."

Sam felt like he had been slapped in the face.

He stares at his brother from across the table, his eyes wide and mouth agape, completely and utterly lost for words.

Dean had always put up a brave front. He had always been the strong one; the anchor, not only to Sam or John, but to any innocent soul that were affected by the supernatural. It goes against Dean's nature to allow himself to see how weak and vulnerable he could be, especially in the eyes of his younger brother, hell even Sam knew that.

Instead he'd mask the pain he feels behind this emotionless mask and this smartass façade, never bringing forward the raw pain that dwelled in him.

And growing up it always pissed Sam off.

But now here he was, willing to lay out his inner most demons on the table, for Sam to see, on a topic so sensitive and delicate they have never really deeply embarked and talked about it before.

And now he wasn't sure if he wanted to know that pain.

It wasn't….._Dean._

And now adding together his brother's weakened and frail state, and the sudden openness into Dean's deepest and darkest emotions, Sam knew something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"But despite that….I dunno." Dean begins as he reclines back into his chair, looking anywhere but at the brown eyes full of pain, fear and betrayal that belong to his baby brother. "I mean, we've lived in like, how many apartments, hotels? We've squatted in old buildings, abandoned warehouses, lived in the back of the Impala; the whole shindig for days or months at a time, and I know I was only four, but I still consider this to be home... Ya know what I'm on about Sammy?"

Sam swallows hard as he forcefully fights back the tears that continued to unwilling form in his eyes and just decides to nod numbly, concentrating his entire attention to the beer bottle infront of him as he nervously rolls it back and forth in his hands, watching intently as the froth continues to rise and fall as if it were the most mesmerising thing he'd ever seen.

'Hey Sammy? You alive there?'

Sam flinches at the word 'alive' and feels the numbness start to fade, being over taken by pure, malicious rage radiating in his veins.

The beer bottle in his hands begins to shake simultaneously with the convulsing of his body and he clenches his jaw with such force it begins to ache. He stares daggers into the shaking bottle before him, envisioning it was his brother he was holding as he radiates his rage on the glass bottle, his grasp on it so tight his knuckles tinged white as he tries to withhold the outburst that was becoming increasing difficult to restrain.

"Sammy?''

"Are you just going to sit there and pretend that everything's okay?' Sam mutters coldly through his clenched teeth, a whirlwind of emotions battling through him, fighting in the pit of his stomach to the point he's sure he's about to throw up.

Dean lets out a long and drawn out sigh as he slowly places his beer bottle on the table. "Everything's going to be fine Sammy." He reassures with little to no conviction.

"That's bull and you know it!" Sam snarls, scrambling out of his chair before hunching over the table, his fists clenched in anger and unshed tears welled in his eyes. "You must think I'm blind or something not to notice how much you've wasted away?! How _sick _you look?!" He stares through misty eyes at the frail figure who now refuses to look at him, the barricade becoming harder to hold up as his stomach churns and his voice breaks into a muttered whisper. "You're dying….aren't you?"

"Nothing gets by you, college boy." Dean wavers softly, forcing out a humourless laugh as he picks up the beer bottle and allows a generous sip of the bitter liquid to trail freely down his throat.

And there it was. The truth Sam wasn't sure he wanted.

His legs buckle beneath him and he collapses back down into the chair beneath him, sinking deep down into the fabric, wishing it would just engulf him and take him far, far away from this nightmare.

"Wh-What is it?" he manages to choke out, the words feeling as if they had just mercilessly clawed away the extremities of his throat as he forced them out of his mouth that he had seemed to momentarily forgotten how to use.

Dean breathes out even deeper this time. "Cancer. Brain Tumour."

The moment the first word escapes his older brother's mouth he feels his chest literally cave in and his heart plummeting straight to the floor. He buries his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, begging himself to wake up and for all this to be a dream, a sick twisted nightmare.

No. No. No. No. No. No.

This wasn't right.

Cancer was something _normal_ people die from.

Not the Winchesters.

Never the Winchesters.

The Winchesters are meant to die heroes. Warriors. Soldiers. Saviours of the human race. Protectors from things that go bump in the night.

The Winchesters should die in combat. Fighting to save another innocent soul's life from something evil in the form of a monster that haunts children's and grown men's nightmares.

Not something evil in the form of a brain tumour.

"Isn't there operations? Medication? Treatment? _Anything_?" He asks shakily, looking up from his cupped hands, his watering eyes silently begging for his brother give him some kind of good news, some kind of hope.

He's not sure he can handle any more bad news.

That soft, apologetic smile resurfaced on his brother's face and he immediately feels that short ray of hope being ripped painfully from his chest.

"It's too late for that now." Dean says softly, watching his little brother crumble before him, tears forming in his own emerald orbs. "By the time they found out about it….it was too late to operate. So I went through chemo and radio and all that to try and shrink it, or slow it down, give me a few more months, maybe even another year if I was lucky...' He watches as a tear falls from his little brother's broken eyes and swallows hard. 'And at first it was looking up….but then…well, it didn't exactly work out..." Dean trails off, trying to keep the neutral, emotionless mask that he had perfected over the years from slipping off his face.

Sam felt his throat run dry, feeling as if sandpaper was roughly scouring away the extremities of his throat each time he attempted to swallow the miniscule amount of saliva as Dean's words echoed in his mind.

He refused to believe it; he wouldn't believe it; he couldn't believe it.

Not Dean.

All Dean Winchester had done all his life was protect people; his family, his friends, and hell, even complete strangers.

All his life all Dean Winchester had done was save countless numbers of innocent and completely oblivious men, women and children from the unknown evil that lurks in this sick, twisted world.

Sure, he was flawed, but that's what made him perfect. Yes, he could be selfish, incompetent, vengeful and vindictive; but he could also be fiercely protective, courageous, compassionate, nurturing and undoubtedly selfless and noble.

He had thrown his entire life on the line to save dozens of lives; lives belonging to complete strangers he had never met, nor will he ever meet again. Hell, he even threw his whole childhood on the line to practically raise Sam by himself, and protect him from the evil truth of the supernatural world for as long as possible in order to give him the childhood Dean never got to experience.

He's spent his whole life being the strong one, being the good little soldier he was, always willing to throw whatever dreams or aspirations out the window if John had told him to, without question or argument; something Sam never could consider to do, even at a ridiculously young age.

And this was the thanks he got?!

By dying an agonising slow, painful death?!

Out of all people in the world he didn't deserve this.

There were elderly people who have lived full, rich lives laughing right infront of the reaper's face. Dean was twenty six. Twenty six years of nothing but being surrounded by evil creatures, tragedy and more horror and violence than what you'd see in a horror movie.

There were murderers and rapists still prowling the streets, right under the noses of the police and public. There were people committing the most malicious of crimes to innocent souls, and here was his brother; his brave, selfless brother creeping even closer to his premature deathbed against his own will.

Why Dean.

"How long?" he finds himself asking in a hushed whisper, and once it escapes his lips he wishes he could immediately take it back.

He doesn't want to know the expiry date of his big brother. He doesn't want to know the truth. He wished he never took away the mystery as to why he looked the way he did. The truth was just too hard to handle.

"Doc says lucky to last as long as I have." Dean admits, taking another swig of his beer, once again not willing to look at the broken shell of his little brother. "But he's certain I probably won't make it to the end of the month….So, less than a week if I'm lucky."

And that's it. The home-fucking-run into making this the worst day in existence.

Sam's chin drops to his chest and his body shudders from the sobs that are threatening to escape. He breathes in hard and deeply, trying to ease his erratic breathing and to stop himself from presenting how much this is actually killing him. He clenches his eyes tightly shut, trying to stop both the tears from falling and the painstaking truth from stabbing him in the heart.

It was hard enough to try and keep the tears at bay by himself, but when he feels those frail arms wrap awkwardly around his hunched shoulders, he just _can't._

At first his brother's touch makes his skin crawl. He can feel his brother's bones pressing hard against himself, despite the thick layering of clothing between them both. He can tell the only reason Dean is leaning his insubstantial body weight against Sam's back is to only prevent himself from falling into a heap on the floor.

But despite his skeletal appearance and weakened state, Dean was still his _brother_.

He leans back into Dean's embrace, silent tears rolling down his cheeks as his body gently convulses in synchronisation with his shuddering sobs, savouring the pacifying feeling it brings. They were never one to share any 'chick flick moments' as Dean had dubbed them; they had only really shared them on very few rare occasions. But now as the daunting reality that he may never be able to experience them again comes forward in his mind, suddenly the number of times they had shared these meaningful embraces, now doesn't seem anywhere enough.

Dean's arms tightens slightly around his younger brother's neck, and although Sam can tell it's the most strength his older brother can muster in his weakened state, at that moment; as cheesy as it sounds; he never wants Dean to let go.

"Please don't cry Sammy." Dean whispers, his voice breaking when he feels the wetness of his little brother's tears soak into his skin. "I can't see you cry because of me."

"Would you rather me be jumping for joy?" Sam teases coldly, but Dean can feel the movement of his little brother's face as it allows a small smile to become present.

"If you'd jump your head would've gone straight through to the second story." Dean laughs as he pulls away, not able to handle the stiffening pain of his body from the uncomfortable position anymore. "Fucking sasquatch." He laughs as he drags himself back to his seat on the opposite side of the table and collapsing down, panting from the small distance.

Sam can't help but laugh at the image, a spark of happiness ignites inside of him as he manages to catch a small glimpse of the smart ass of a brother he remembered.

But seconds later, the laughter fades and the daunting silence returns.

"Why didn't you visit me?" he whispers, refocusing back onto the beer bottle in his hands. "Why didn't you call? Write me a letter? Why didn't you find a way to tell me?"

"If I'd call, would you have picked up?" his brother replies simply without emotion, he too mindlessly rolling the bottle of beer in his hands.

Sam drops his hands away from the bottle as he feels himself crumbling at his words, his cruel, truthful words. He inhales deeply and clenches his eyes once more as he tries to force his mind to answer, but in all honesty he doesn't want to answer. He doesn't want to admit to his brother who was predicted to die in less than a week that he probably never would have answered his call. He doesn't want to admit that he used to inwardly cringe when his brother's name flashed up on caller I.D and that he'd purposely not answer his phone. He doesn't want to admit that he'd practically forgotten about Dean because he was too caught up into his own life. He doesn't want to admit that he wouldn't even be here if Bobby hadn't of called him at three in the morning, worried out of his mind because he hadn't been able to get in contact with Dean for months….

_Months._

His eyes grow wide and he feels his heart shatter in his empty chest as the realisation slaps him in the face. "You…You were going to die alone…You…" He numbly says, the unbearable realisation mercilessly ripping apart his insides.

The rolling of the beer bottle stops and silence overtakes the room.

"How could you even consider that?!" Sam shouts, standing up from his chair as he finds the anger overtaking the grief. "How could you consider just dying alone like that?"

"Sammy…" Dean exhales, before pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to rid the throbbing of his mind and the aching of his heart.

"No! Don't _Sammy_ me!" he growls, hostility and rage vibrating off his tongue as he speaks. "Did you just expect to drop dead here in this house, and lie there for god knows how long until someone finally notices the bad smell?! What about Bobby huh?! I probably wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for him calling me at three a.m. worried out of his mind because he hasn't been able to contact you in _months_. Months Dean, _months_." He can't stop the words flowing freely from his mouth, nor can he stop the tears fuelled with remorse, anguish, pain and anger from flowing down his cheeks. "What about Dad Dean? Where is he?! Does he even know you're sick?! Or did you shut him out of your life as well?" He chokes and his voice breaks into a pleading whisper. "What about _me_ Dean? Is that how you wanted me to find out about your condition? By getting a phone call telling me that they've found your dead body, and telling me that it wasn't some _sick animal _attack, but cancer?"

"Dad knew." Dean whispers, hurt engulfing his green irises. "He even dropped me off at some chemo appointments too….. But one time he didn't pick me up." He looks up at his younger brother who now looks as deathly pale as he is. "He just left the Impala in the parking lot with the keys, and a voicemail message telling me he found a lead on the thing that killed Mum, and once the tumour's gone and I'm better to call him and join him." He dropped his gaze from his younger brother as he felt the tears form in his eyes. "I never called him considering I never got better." He shrugged, as if the abandonment of his father didn't mean anything to him.

The new information of his father's abandonment caused the anger to exceed past the point of tolerable and the younger sibling turned and threw a clenched fist through the plastered wall. He didn't even feel the blood protruding from the wounds on his knuckles or the pain that shot up his arm at the impact. His mind refused to see or acknowledge anything other but the bright red that flashed infront of his eyes and the pure rage that pulsated through his veins.

He swore then and there, the next time his father ever dares to show his face again Sam would not hesitate into killing him, regardless of the fact that he was his own flesh and blood.

"Sam, Sammy."

His brother's hoarse and weakened voice enters his mind, and slowly the red starts to fade. Sam blinks a few times, clearing his fogged mind and looks down at his older brother's eyes, wide with worry and concern, and another pang of guilt stabs at him.

Dean reaches out his frail and bony hand and uncurls Sam's bloodied fist outright in silence. Sam withholds the groan of pain at the movement, watching his brother's infirm facial features morph from calmness, to concern and to finally, relief as he studies Sam's damaged hand.

"Why do you want to die alone Dean?" Sam whispers shakily, his eyes plastered on his older brother's face, who still refuses to look at him.

"Dying's dying Sammy. It doesn't matter if you do it in some fancy resort surrounded by friends and family, or alone in an abandoned house. In the end you all end up in the same place, the only difference is with those two scenarios is that all those people who watched you die?" His emerald eyes looks up meeting with his younger brother's browns, his gaze intense as he stares intently into his little brother's eyes with such determination it actually scares Sam. "It lives with them forever. Haunts them. No matter how old or how young you are you _never_ forget a loved one dying, and it fucks with you so bad. Nightmares, flashbacks, the whole works. It doesn't matter if they died peacefully from some chronic illness, or if they died on the roof of your little brother's nursery with their stomach slashed and engulfed by flames."

He goes to turn away, but Sam grabs his shoulders and gently, but forcibly turns him around to face him. Dean grunts in protest when he first feels Sam's hands on his bony shoulder blades, but allows himself to be turned around, too exhausted to even fight.

"Dean, I don't care what you say. I don't care what you think will happen to me after you go, or what will happen to me once you go. I'm not going to let you die alone." He shakes Dean slightly as his older brother's gaze falters. "I'm not going to abandon you."

Dean looks back into Sam's eyes, his emerald eyes fierce and spiteful. "You already did Sam." He states coldly.

Sam still flinches at his Dean's anticipated retort. "And I hate myself for it. If anything I wish I picked up every single one of your calls, and came running to your side when you first asked. It was a mistake. A mistake I'll have to live with for the rest of my life….But I'm here now Dean. I know its two years too late, but I'm here, and I'll be here for you until you decide it's finally time to go. I'm here now, so that's gotta count for something, right?" he's hesitant on the final sentence, only allowing himself to say that final line in haste.

Dean stalls in his reply, adverting his gaze from his brother to the floor and back up to his brother, testing the sincerity in his brother's words.

"I guess it does count for something." He admits under his breath, his face solid and expressionless.

"Then let me stay. Don't push me away like you always do when things get too much for you and you just shut down. Let me be there like I should have been there since the beginning."

Dean's emerald eyes connects with his younger brother's brown momentarily, before he lets out a long, drawn breath and adverts his eyes back to the wooden ground.

"Besides. You don't really have a choice." Sam shrugs as a devilish grin spreads over his face. "I'm not taking no as an answer. You're stuck with me."

"I can easily lock you out." Dean tested, his eyebrow cocked upwards as he stares at his younger brother.

"Dude. I've known how to pick a lock since I was four years old."

Dean shakes his head and laughs at Sam response, a small smirk plastered on his hollowed face. "Want another beer?"

-x-

They talk endlessly for hours, and it actually surprises Sam on how interested his older brother is about his own life.

Dean presses Sam on information about college life, and Sam freely tells him everything he wants to know. He tells him about his new internship, his friends, and when he pulls out a photograph out of his wallet and tells him about Jess, Dean's hallowed eyes widen in surprise and he lets out a prolonged wolf whistle before commenting how she's so out of his little brother's league.

Yes, the same annoying, smart ass of an older brother was still there behind the frail shell of his body.

As Sam continues to speaks, he watches his older brother's faded emerald eyes spark up with emotion and fascination, absorbing every word Sam says as if it were as precious as oxygen, and it makes the younger sibling momentarily forget the guilt that burns in his hallowed and grief-stricken chest, and the younger siblings realises just how much he has missed these rare talks with his brother; how much he will miss these rare talks.

Genuine smiles and laughs are shared between the two brothers into the early hours of the morning, the time seeming to rapidly pass unknowingly before them. It was reaching close to two a.m. when Sam finally forces the conversation to come to an end.

If it wasn't for the exhaustion clouding his older brother's emerald eyes and the hoarseness of his voice, he never would have allowed this moment to end.

"Dean, you need to sleep." He states softly, staring intently into his brother's eyes to state that he wouldn't be accepting any arguments or excuses.

"I'll sleep when I'm dead Sammy." Dean rolls his eyes, the smile that had been plastered on his face for the past few hours wavers briefly into a scowl. "Tell me more." He presses on, placing his hands in the table and hunching forward, his trademark manipulative grin plastered on his face.

Sam dismisses his brother's reply, clenching his jaw as his brother's first words echoes endlessly in his mind, scorching his insides raw at the haunting reality of his words. "Do you need help getting upstairs?" he asked, choosing to ignore the urge to yell at his brother for his lack of sympathy and by freely throwing around the fact he was dying as if it meant nothing to him.

Dean leant back into his chair, his smirk faltering and morphing into a frown as a grunt of annoyance escaped his lips. "You're so stubborn Sam." he scowled.

He fought his lips from forming a smirk at his older brother's reply, instead deciding to continue his strong persona to show his brother he meant business. "Do you need help getting upstairs?" he repeats calmly.

Dean lets out a sigh of defeat as he adverts his gaze from his younger brother once more. "I sleep on the couch Sammy. I can't even make it up the first three steps, let alone all of them."

Sam swallows hard as he forces himself to nod understandably. "But Dean, sleeping on the couch mustn't be good for your body."

Dean shrugs at his brother's remark. "It's not like it doesn't hurt already. I honestly can't tell the difference if the pain is caused by sleeping on that shitty couch or the fact it's because my limbs are too stiff to move because of the tumour."

"Oh."

"Yeah..." Dean shrugs once more. "But oh well. I'm used to it." he claims, forcing his voice to become louder and more positive despite the pain of his throat. He leans once more on the table, and with shaking arms he forces himself upwards, his breath hitches and buds of sweat starts to form as he physically struggles to stand upright.

Shock radiates through him as he feels his younger brother's arms wrap around his too-thin waist, easily lifting him to his feet. "Come on Dean." Sam says simply, allowing Dean to fall against his side as he helps him make it through the house to the lounge room and gently lowers him down onto the couch.

"Thanks Sammy." He grunts, forcing his stiff limbs to lift onto the worn couch as he lies down, triggering the sickening feeling of nausea to settle in the pit of his stomach, with the added bonus of a throbbing headache starting to form in the back of his head, painfully circling to the front.

As soon as his head hits the pillow he feels his eyes edge closer together, fatigue overwhelming him. "There's, uh, a bed upstairs for ya Sammy. The old owner left it there for me." he mutters almost silently.

"Dude!" his younger brother's astounded and irritated voice interrupts his clouded mind, making him alert within seconds.

"What?" he moans, watching his brother through a small slit of his eyelids.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Get your ass off that freaking couch now!" Dean's eyes fly open at his younger brother's stern voice and he unconsciously cocks his eyebrow in confusion.

"What? Why?" he asks quizzically.

"Cause I'm going to bring that damn bed down here for you." Sam states as he folds his arms promptly over his chest, his face etched in a disapproving glare.

"No Sammy." Dean moans, bringing his hands up to his face.

"Shuttup and get up. Now."

Dean allows his hands to fall limply down next to his sides. "Do I have a choice?" he groans.

"Nope." Sam states sternly, his tone completely contrasting the smile that had spread over his face.

"You're stubborn you know that?" The older sibling glares, propping his elbows underneath him as he tries to force his stiff and aching body upwards.

"So I've been told." Sam smirks, leaning down and helping Dean to sit upright on the couch. "Do you know where it is?"

Dean shakes his head slightly, regretting it immediately as another jolt of pain and nausea shoots through his body. "I dunno. Never gone upstairs, even when I was able to… That's where _it_ happened." Dean admits numbly, not allowing himself to look at his younger brother as the haunting memories wash over him.

Sam nods in understanding, his veins running cold as he immediately registered what _it _meant. "Okay, I'll be back in five. You'll be okay?" he asks, seeking for permission and reassurance.

"I'll be fine _Mum_." Dean states as he rolls his eyes, though finding his brother's concern almost touching.

Not like he'd admit it.

Sam lets out a small chuckle and shakes his head softly at his brother's remark before he makes his way towards the stairs.

With each step he took he could feel the unsettling feeling growing deep in the pit of his stomach. His chest become heavier and thicker as he descends upwards, goosebumps washing over his skin as a deathly shiver travels up his spine. The only source of lighting offered was from the glow of the eerie full moon, shining through the uncurtained windows and faintly illuminating the second story.

He swallows deeply as he walks towards the closest door to him, almost praying that the mattress was there so he wouldn't have to search and spend more time up here than what was necessary. The wooden door creaks open, to reveal an empty bedroom with an ajar door revealing an adjoining ensuite.

He feels the vile around his heart tighten as the realisation that this would have most likely been his parents room drifts into his mind.

Ghostly figures of his mother and father in the now furnished room captivate his mind as he unconsciously envisions them, their faces smiling and full of life as they sat next to each other on the giant bed in the centre of the room, laughing mutely as they shared silent stories to one another.

Sam slams the wooden door shut, panting hard as he rests his back firmly against it. A cold sweat had broken out over his skin, slightly drafting his wayward bangs to his forehead. He blinks hard; once, twice, three times; trying to rid the image from his mind.

Shaking his head roughly to rid the images from his mind, he continues down the hallway, passing an obvious bathroom before coming forward to another wooden door. He hesitates when his hand was placed on the door handle, swallowing thickly he looks up at the white ceiling, momentarily bracing himself before opening it, relief flowing through him when he was only greeted by yet another empty room.

He exhales a breath of air he wasn't aware he had been holding in before he turns to leave, his body freezing in its place as his blood runs cold when he hears a ghostly child's laugh enter his ears.

Reluctantly he turns, and faces the small child with blazing emerald eyes playing innocently in the middle of the room. The transparent figure of his older brother at only four years of age, looks so happy, so _innocent_, that he literally has to force the tears not to fall as the image of the fragile and debilitated image of his brother downstairs enters his mind, and the reality dawns on Sam that his older brother never had, and never would be able to experience more of the life he had deserved to live.

Slowly and sorrowfully he closes the door behind him, a single tear trails down his cheek as the door clicks closed, and for some unknown reason it feels as he's just closed off more of his older brother than just the memory of his childhood.

He lifts his head from the dust coated floor and through squinted eyes he comes face to face with the only remaining wooden door in the hallway.

His room.

Once again that obnoxious voice enters his mind and screams at him to run, and unlike before he almost willingly gives in.

But as he backs away back towards the staircase the heart wrenching guilt is back, stabbing him even more mercilessly than before, scolding him for running away from his selfish fears that his mind has concocted, while his elder brother lays downstairs, dying.

Dying.

That word echoes in his mind over and over again, taunting him, torturing him for not being there; for almost never being there.

He wasn't there for his brother before, but he sure as hell was determined to be there for him now.

He inhales deeply as he forces his trembling body to move forward, hoping that the deep breaths would calm his racing heart that continued to rise with each step he made closer to the door.

His hand firmly wraps around the door handle, and in one quick motion he jerks the wooden door open, relief floods through him when he finally eyes the single bed in the otherwise empty room.

The moment his foot first crosses through the door frame, the sick smell of smoke burns through his nose and coats his lungs as his former nursery burst into flames.

He could literally feel the scorching heat burning into him as he runs through the naked flames, edging closer and closer to him as he rushes over to the abandoned mattress that lay in the centre of the burning room.

"It's not real. It's not real." He mutters incoherently to himself over and over again as he heaves the mattress off the rusted bedframe, desperately trying to reassure himself that the scene around him wasn't real.

He knew it wasn't real. He knew it was some kind of twisted vision or hallucination, but the fact he could actually _feel_ the heat and the painful burning sensation as the flames came in contact with his skin didn't exactly ease his mind.

He struggles to drag the mattress through the dancing flames, an unnatural weight seeming to be weighing it down. He pushes harder; faster; as the fire continues to rapidly grow around him.

He feels something fall on his face, the unknown liquid slowly trailing down his cheek. He forgets about the mattress momentarily as he raises a shaking hand to his face. He pulls his fingers back, his stomach lurching and the convulsing of his body increases when he sees the tip of his fingers were tinged a bright, crimson red.

He doesn't dare look up as a wave of adrenaline or fear ignited in his veins, giving his body the much needed boost to get the fuck out of there. The mattress became easier to move as the adrenaline and the determination to escape; whatever this was, continues to case his body.

He didn't even take notice of the fact he had successfully managed to cross the border of the doorframe out of his former room and into the hallway until the fiery shadows that danced on the walls finally fade and the flames extinguish behind him.

He collapses hard against the plastered wall of the hallway, the mattress discarded from his thoughts as it falls freely to the floor beside him. He pants hard, still being able to feel the reminiscences of the fire which continued to linger on and around his body.

He runs his hands harshly over his sweat coated face, still able to smell the smoke and feel the heat on his body. Taking in deep breaths he tries to stabilise his almost catatonic body, wanting nothing more to do than to get as far away from his former room as possible.

Exhaling deeply he notes the mattress that lies on the floor, the simple item triggering the memory as to why he had come up there in the first place. The simple thought of his older brother overshadows his erratic fear and within a second he scrambles towards it, easily dragging it through the moonlit hall.

Sam exhales a breath of relief as he discards the mattress against the base of the couch, silently thanking that whatever had just happened was over.

"Hey, Dean, got the mattress for ya." He announces softly as he leans over the top of the couch, expecting to see his older brother lying down or fast asleep on the couch.

The dread begins to rise in his body when he fails to see his older brother's weakened figure reclining on the couch. "Dean?!" he calls out, thrashing his head around the room as he searches for his older brother. "Dean!" he calls again, his voice on the borderline of panic as he hastily paces around the lower level of their former home in search for his brother.

"In 'ere." A strained, almost inaudible voice replies, and Sam rushes in the direction his older brother's voice, his heart plummeting to the floor when he sees his older brother hunched over the porcelain bowl, gripping onto either side of the bowl with trembling arms as if his life depended on it.

Dean looks up and sends his younger brother a weak smile that only lasted for a few seconds before it disintegrated and fell into a sickening scowl, his deathly pale skin tinges a sickening green before the bottom of his head disappears past the brim of the porcelain bowl.

Dean's body shudders as the nausea attacks his body once more in another painful wave. The bile claws and burns away the extremities of his throat as it roughly escapes without the faintest sign it was going to stop anytime soon.

He feels his younger brother sit beside him on the cold tile floor, and he begins rubbing circles against his elder brother's bony back, offering what little reassurance and comfort he could give; a method his older brother had done for him countless times when they had found themselves in opposing situations growing up.

Soon the vomiting subsides, and he clenches his eyes shut, tears that he can't control falls freely from his eyes as he silently waits, and prays that that would be the last one.

No such luck.

Not even thirty seconds later he finds himself retching into the bowl once more, amazed with how much vomit is escaping his system considering he can hardly eat anymore. He tries to ignore the fact he can feel the trembling in his little brother's body as it presses against his own as he continues to heave and gag into the porcelain bowl, or the fact he can basically picture the painful grimace on his younger brother's face without having to look at it, and with just the thought of it he finds himself throwing up once more.

After what seems like forever the vomiting finally subsides. His head rests limply over his arm that is draped across the toilet's lid, his breathing erratic and jagged as his body continues to convulse slightly from nausea as it continues to wreak chaos on his already weakened body.

"Thank god for havin' a bathroom down stairs aye?" he smiles weakly at his younger brother, his head lolls slightly when he forces it upright, the headache advancing once more and he withholds the hiss of pain that so desperately wants to escape through his clenched lips.

Sam forces a smile he didn't mean at the remark for his brother's behalf, hoping to ease the clear cut shame and embarrassment that shone brightly in his emerald eyes. "Come on Dean." He says softly when he notes the fatigue becoming harder and harder for his older brother to ignore as Dean fights to keep his eyelids from etching closer and closer together

Sam stands up, lifting his older brother's skeletal body off the bathroom floor, inwardly wincing on just how easy it was. Dean wraps an arm around Sam's broad shoulders without argument, seeking the assistance he knew he needed as his body fails to comply with his orders to stay awake and to walk.

Sam wraps an arm around his brother's waist, resisting the urge to vomit himself when he felt his brother's ribs perfectly through the three different layers of clothing once more. Swallowing thickly he promptly flushes the toilet before he slowly helps his brother back into the living room.

He gently places Dean back down on the couch as he goes and retrieves the mattress from behind the couch. He watches as Dean's body slightly begins to fall to the left, and then to the right as Dean struggles to keep himself from collapsing altogether.

"Just hang on Dean. Your bed will be ready in a minute okay?" He says as he quickly pulls the mattress to the other side of the couch.

"No way 'm spendin' another night on that shitty couch." Dean slurs, fighting against the weight weighing down his eyelids.

Sam laughs slightly as he lifts the pillow from the couch, being greeted with the glistening silver serrated edge of his older brother's beloved hunting knife.

"You _still_ sleep with a knife under your pillow Dean?" he asks, slightly amused as he waves the silver hunting knife around.

"Force of nature." Dean mutters under his breath.

Sam shakes his head, smirking as he places the pillow on the mattress, discarding the knife on the arm of the couch."Come on Dean." He says, once again as he wraps his arms around his brother's too-thin waist and lifts him up from the couch, leading him towards the awaiting mattress.

He feels whatever remaining pieces of his heart shatter as he notices Dean trying to help Sam by trying to force his legs to work and walk the short distance, but instead of steady footsteps his feet falter, rotating from being dragged behind him, to twisting and jerking to either side.

A perfect comparison to when Sam used to help Dean stumble into bed after a drunken night.

He smiles momentarily at the image before it promptly fades when his cruel mind reminds him that _this_ wasn't the result of a drunken night; this was the result of cancer, the disease stealing his brother's life away.

Tears prick in his eyes as he gently helps lower Dean onto the mattress and goes to gather the blanket from the couch; his heart clenching tightly as he draped it lightly over his twenty six year old brother who looked more like a six year old.

"Knife." Dean slurs, reaching his shaking arm out to his younger brother.

"Seriously?"

"Knife." Dean repeats sternly, regaining enough energy to make his voice as demanding as possible.

Sam sighs and hands Dean the knife who immediately places it underneath his pillow.

"Thanks for being there Sammy." Dean mumbles incoherently through his fatigued state, as he shuffles deeper into the mattress, pulling the blanket up to his chin before promptly falling into the deep abyss of sleep.

Sam turns his head and drops his eyes to the floor. "I just wish I was there before."

-x-

He's bargaining with the devil now, considering God never answered.

Out of all people you'd think Sam Winchester would know better than to even consider bargaining with the devil. He's seen the horrifying and haunting consequences that come with such a deal he was willing to make. He's heard the invisible growl of a hellhound as it made the walls around him vibrate. He's seen the fear etched into the face of somewhat stranger they had been attempting to save, and he can still see the invisible monster's claws rip apart the stranger's flesh into thin ribbons, the dark red crimson splattering all over the walls and his face as he watches his brother and father fight against the invisible creature as he huddles in the corner like his older brother orders.

_He wasn't even twelve at the time. _

But as he watches his older brother's facial features squeeze together into a painful grimace and his skeletal body twist and turn fitfully under the thin cotton blanket in a pain induced sleep, the younger is just about willing to do anything in order to save his eldest brother from the pain and suffering that this cursed disease mercilessly brings.

He scrolls further down the lengthy list, studying and memorising all there is to know about Dean's fatal condition; the progression, symptoms, and side-effects causing his blood to run cold as it describes all the torturous pain that his eldest brother had been forced to suffer through for months, against his own will; _alone_.

In another window are websites; almost a dozen websites; all specialising in any kind of supernatural loop holes; spells, deals, sacrifices; that he could use or do in order to rid his older brother of this cursed disease before it gets rid of his life.

He won't allow himself to just sit there and allow his brother to freely die infront of him. He curses Dean's stubbornness for not telling him sooner; and he curses his own selfishness for not contacting his brother sooner. At least now that he knows about Dean's condition he can finally at least gain the satisfaction that he at least _attempted _to help Dean, not that it would really matter. Dean would still be gone if he fails, and as he watches the thread of life Dean's hanging onto slowly fade away, as much as he wants to ignore it; deep down he knows that the reality is that Dean doesn't have a lot of time.

At least by drowning himself with possible solutions and keeping himself busy he didn't have to face reality; not yet anyway.

"Stop it."

His head jerks up by the sudden sound of his brother's shaky, yet determined voice and meets with his older brother's pale face, his face expressionless and the emerald in his eyes faded and almost lifeless.

He looked so…._tired._

And not the sleepy kind of tired, but the physically drained kind of tired.

"Stop it Sammy." Dean says gruffly through his hushed whisper as he hobbles over to his younger brother and collapses swiftly beside him on the couch. "Stop torturing yourself." He states gently, almost pleadingly as he reaches out his shaking hand and gently shuts the lid of the laptop that rests in Sam's lap.

"Dean…" Sam says, trying to ease the rambling of his mind and the guilt he wasn't sure he should be feeling because his elder brother was aware of what he was doing. Should he feel guilty for trying to find a way for Dean to survive and live on without this pain?

"Don't apologise Sam." He waves off, his face softening and morphing into an understanding smile. "It's what you do Sam. You distract yourself. You always have. You bury your head in whatever book or article you can get a hold of and try and find any possible road to get a positive result that benefits everyone. I get it. But it's just going to be harder for you when I go." His voice breaks on the last line, whether it was from the tenderness of his throat or for the raw emotion reeling in his words he wasn't exactly sure.

"I'll find a way Dean."

He adverts his eyes to the carpeted floor, not daring to look at his younger brother as his heart plummets in his chest. "No Sammy," he wavers softly already feeling his eyes water with unshed tears. "You won't…It's….It's too late." He sighs, the lightness of his head and the pain strangling his heart makes him want to give into darkness that continued to call him, but he can't; not yet.

Sam processes those words over and over again in his mind, his bottom lip trembling as the realisation of what Dean's words meant hitting him like a train. "N-no." he stutters, almost certain he's going to break out in uncontrollable sobs as he continues to speak. "Come on Dean, you have to keep going. You have to fight." His younger brother pleads strongly, trying to mask the unsteadiness and desperation that laced his voice, both ultimately failing as the pain and dread grows inside of him, causing tears to unconsciously form in his brown eyes when he sees his older brother's eyelids edge closer together, his breaths jagged and slow.

With whatever remaining strength he could muster, he lifts his head and slowly turns it to face his younger brother; the simple movement sending the chill of death to creep through his skin, travelling to every part of his body. "What if I don't want to fight anymore Sammy?" he whispers, his voice breaking as he notes the tears falling over the edge of his younger brother's eyes and his own barricade cracks slightly, tears too threatening to fall from his own emerald eyes.

"Wh…What?" Sam asks in disbelief, his voice loud and clear in his mind, though it escapes through his lips as more of a cracked whisper. He does a double take of his older brother, his strong persona faltering as his mind continued to process those nine short words over and over again. His stomach lurches slightly as he takes one last glance of his brother and he finally notices something he's never witnessed dancing around in his brother's eyes.

_Peace._

Sam swallows hard as that damned soft, apologetic smile flashes across his brother's face once more, the sight mercilessly hammering the realisation into his mind, his body and his soul that Dean's finally given up; that he's finally ready.

_That this is finally it._

"I never wanted to die alone." Dean admits softly, shuffling his stiff and aching body deeper into the couch cushions, his eyelids becoming dangerously closer together. "I just wanted myself to believe I did so I wouldn't give in and beg for you to come." He sighs deeply as he finally gives up against the battle to keep his head upright and allows his head to fall against the base of the couch. "I guess the only reason I lasted as long as I did is because deep down I always kinda hoped you, or Bobby, or hell, even Dad to rock up on the doorstep and I dunno, just be there I guess." He pauses, and swallows deeply, trying to keep his emotions at bay. "I almost lost that fight Sammy. I almost gave up on that hope." His voice breaks and Sam feels like he's literally being stabbed at his brother's confession, the guilt building and burning so ruthlessly he was almost convinced it would kill him. "But then there you were, on the doorstep, and I'll tell you know Sammy, that was the happiest moment I've had in months."

He struggles for the words to form in his mind at yet another one of his brother's uncharacteristic confession. You'd think that after a night with nothing but sentimental nostalgia, countless numbers of chick flick moments and dozens of deep and emotionally charged confessions, he would be used to all the unusual changes in his brother's behaviour as he edged closer and closer to his premature deathbed.

Yeah, that wasn't the case at all.

After over twenty years of Dean shielding his emotions and fears from Sam, it was actually _scary_ getting a glimpse into the mind that was Dean Winchester. He was grateful of the fact that Dean was finally opening up to him after all these years, but it still just didn't feel right knowing that the only reason he was opening up because he was just inches away from the reaper's touch.

Sam watched his brother's eyelids preach closer together and the dread starts to settle in. Panic ignites in his chest as he watches his older brother's chest barely moving as his body becomes still, practically unmoving. He throws his head around the partially lit room, desperately searching for _something_, _anything_; but for what he doesn't know.

It's when he sees a flash of silver it finally clicks, and it's as if he had been given a sign of what to do next.

"Come on Dean." He grunts, moving towards his brother and looping his arm around his brother's too thin waist.

Dean fights against the weight weighing his eyelid down and stares weakly at his younger brother, his eyebrow slightly cocked in confusion. "What are you doing Sammy?" he asks as loud as he could muster as he feels himself being lifted from the couch.

"No one else is dying in this house Dean." Sam states with determination in his soft tone. "We're gunna go on that road trip okay?"

He sees Dean's lips twitch upwards in the corner of his eye in response, and notices the sudden colour remerging in his emerald orbs.

It makes it a little bit easier.

Sam half carries, half drags Dean to the adjoining garage where the Impala has been residing. He frowns slightly as he notes the layer of dust coating the Impala's sleek, black paint, the guilt churns once more in the pit of his stomach when he realises it must have been some time since his older brother had been well enough to drive his beloved muscle car.

He gently places Dean in the passenger's side, cringing inwardly how wrong it looks for Dean to be sitting there and not in the driver's seat, and pulls the seatbelt strap over his bony chest. "You gunna be able to hang on a little longer?" He asks, worry tinging his voice and it physically hurts to even say those short ten words.

"I'm not dead yet." Dean replies simply, his lips upturned into a smirk.

Sam nods at his words, fighting away the numbness that stabs at him as he shuts the passenger's door gently and sits down in the driver's seat. Goosebumps attack his skin when the feeling of the leather steering wheel comes in contact with his flesh.

_This was so wrong_.

Sam could count the number of times he had been freely permitted to drive the Impala on two hands and one foot without whining, complaining or arguing. The connection Dean shared with this car, and the way he treated it, you'd think it was a living, breathing human; a family member. It was as if the car was _made_ for him, no one else, just Dean.

"Come on_ Samantha_. I'm dyin' here." Dean teased freely, his voice faint, but light and full of humourous sarcasm.

Sam snaps out of his thoughts, Dean's words bringing forth the haunting reality once more as the silver keys thumbled in his shaking hands as he struggled to place them in the Impala's ignition.

Fuck he hates how Dean can be so brutally honest when he doesn't even realise it.

He ignores the words as best as he can as he reverses out of the driveway, forcing his mind to stay focused on the stretch of road ahead as he continues to drive, roughly pushing aside the fact that only one of them will be returning from this too-short road trip; alive.

The bittersweet air of the early morning helped slightly ease the haunting dread and anticipation of what was to come as it flowed through the open window. He couldn't help but feel grateful for the distraction given from the purr of the engine as the Impala rumbled through the empty street.

Dean leant his head against the window, fighting the urge to scream in pain with every pothole they somehow managed hit. Instead he focuses on keeping his eyes open as he watches the scenery change from the residential paradise to the open road illuminated from the early morning sun.

He lolls his head off the window and turns to the left. "Hey Sammy?"

Sam's head immediately flicked off the road and turned to his older brother, not even bothering to mask the dreaded expression that was plastered on his face. "Yeah Dean?"

"Put up ya window and turn the heat on will ya?"

Sam's eyebrow cocks in confusion as he rotated from looking at the open plain road to Dean and back again. "Dude, it's the middle of summer and it's not even six a.m. and I'm already dyi…" If Dean wasn't in the car Sam was certain he would have jerked the car off into the nearest tree in shame. "It's already too freaking hot." He finishes hastily, mentally kicking himself for his unintentional slip up.

"Just put up your window and turn the heat on Sam." Dean repeats, rolling his eyes and smirking at the level of his brother's subtleness.

He feels the heat attack his body despite the early hours of the morning as he rolls up the window and turns the heat up, choosing to comply to his brother's demands without argument, his slip up already hallowing his insides from the guilt.

"Now listen."

"Listen for what Dean?"

Dean rose a shaking finger to his lips. "Shuttup and listen." He orders, tapping his ear multiple times to add emphasis to his demands.

So Sam listens, and when the familiar rattling sound enters his ears he stares at his brother with wide eyes in disbelief. "Legos?"

"Legos." Dean confirms, smiling slightly as nods softly. "Ya know those stupid army men you crammed in the ashtray when you were a kid are still stuck in there too." He states, waving his hand and gestures towards the faulty ashtray.

"You were so pissed when you found out about that." Sam laughs absentmindedly as he finds himself lost in the memory of his raging barely teenage brother.

"You bet your ass I was!" Dean laughs meekly, as he weakly jabs his younger brother with his elbow, his smile fades before he lets out a long, drawn breath and lolls his head back against the window to stare at the passing scenery. "You know, just after you left for Stanford…before I found out about the cancer…me and Dad went on this hunt together; poltergeist or ghost, or something like that. Anyway, we're there in the graveyard ready to salt and burn the bastard when the stupid son of a bitch appears, and damn Sammy, it was _pissed_. So I try and distract it you know, hit it with iron or shoot it with rock salt, whatever. Anyway before I can hurt it or whatever it disappears." He turns back to Sam, who's listening intently as he continues driving down the highway. "Next thing I know the Impala's headlights turn on, and then the engine; by itself. The son of the bitch possessed Baby here, and ended up chasing me all around the graveyard trying to run me over. He ends up trapping me against these giant catacombs and tries to hit me against the wall, but of course I managed to move out of the way just in time, and Dad finally manages to gank the bitch and it burst into flames. Baby here was totalled. I had to practically build her from the ground up, and it took a lot of sleepless nights but I finally managed to fix her back right up to perfection."

"Except you left the legos in the vents and the soldiers in the ashtray?"

"Course I could have fixed it. But I didn't want to." He shrugs. "I made those little things stay 'cause, I don't know, I couldn't imagine her without them. Even the idea of that, it's not right. Those little blemishes kinda make her perfect, and kinda represents how much she's been in our life ya know?" He sighs deeply once more and turns his head back out the window, physically drained from recounting the story. "I just needed you to know that."

Again his eyebrow cocks in confusion. "Why do I need to know this?"

"Geez Sammy. You're meant to be the smart one." Dean remarks as he rolls his eyes. He shuffles deeper into the leather seats, trying to find a more comfortable position for his sickening stiff and aching body as he turns to face his baby brother. "Cause I don't want you taking away those little blemishes if you ever have to fix her up okay?"

Sam grips his hands tightly around the steering wheel as the realisation of what his brother was trying to say, and what he wanted became clear. Of course there had to be some sort reason as to why Dean told him to turn on the heat in the first place. "You want _me _to have the Impala?"

"Well who else did you think I was going to give it too?"

"I-"

"But I swear to God Sammy," His voice grows dark and serious, almost murderous. "If you put any of that IPod jack hook-up bullshit in my Baby, or crash or hurt her in any way, I will come back from the dead just to kick your ass. You hear me?"

"Maybe I'll just have to crash her then." Sam replies teasingly a mischievous smirk etched onto his face.

Dean laughs, a genuine laugh, despite knowing full well that if that's all it had to take to have a chance to see Dean again, Sam would do it in an instant.

Five minutes of pure silence passes both brothers before Dean finally decides to speak once more.

"You need to promise me some things Sam."

Sam swallows the uncertainty, before gently allowing his head to rise and fall in an almost unnoticeable nod. "Like what Dean?" he asks as strongly as he could, trying to hide the dread that had settled in his stomach, knowing full well this is Dean's final speech to Sam.

"I want you to promise me this Sam," Dean begins, thankful that he had managed to say 'want' instead of '_need_'. _"_Promise me you'll never go back to this life, back to hunting. No matter what happens or how much Dad harasses you too-"

"He won't get the chance to because the next time I see him I'll kill him." Sam states so calmly, with such determination and a murderous desire burning in the brown eyes he shared with his father it literally shakes Dean to the core.

"No you won't." Dean states firmly, staring intense daggers into his younger brother who continued to keep his gaze plastered on the road ahead. "You're not going to kill him Sam. You're not like that. You're not a monster Sammy; you're not a _murderer_."

Sam clenches his jaw at his brother's words, and grips the steering wheel tighter as tension strapped his body.

"I'm gunna tell you what you're gunna do once I'm gone okay?" Dean said, placing his frail hand upon his brother's broad shoulder, easily noting the strain on his younger brother's muscles. He looks straight at his younger brother, knowing full well that Sam wouldn't look at him, but would certainly feel the intense gaze Dean was giving Sam.

"First, you're gunna give me a proper hunter's burial okay? Salt and burn the whole works. I don't want some demon to use me as a meat suit okay? They're always a sucker for the attractive ones." He laughs slightly as he shakes his younger brother's shoulder, his smirk spreading when he sees the corner of his younger brother's lips twitch slightly upwards. "Then, you're gunna get back in the Impala and drive back to college. You're gunna forget about this life, and marry that blonde headed beauty that is totally out of your league and have like a billion kids, cause I know you'd be an amazing Dad." His voice is breaking now, unshed tears glistened in his emerald orbs. "You're gunna forgive Dad, even if you think he doesn't deserve it. Dad's the only family you're gunna have left, and you're the only one he's gunna have left, and family's gotta stick together okay?"

"You're gunna be the most successful lawyer out there. You're gunna be hired for the next generation's Lindsay Lohans and Britney Spears'. You're gunna watch your kids grow, finish highschool and college, fall in love and have their own kids. You're gunna threaten every boy that your daughter walks in with, even using one of Dad's old shotguns if needed. You're gunna watch every single one of your son's football or basketball games, unless god forbid he's just like you, then I guess you're just gunna have to watch him compete in the mathletes.

"You're gunna live until you're fat and bald and chugging Viagra, and then your time will eventually come and you're gunna die an old, happy man surrounded by your friends and family. And that's both out happy endings, and that's the only one I'm gunna get okay?" Tears had long since fallen down his hallowed cheeks, every word he says he says with such longing and truthfulness it slices his heart raw.

"So promise me Sammy. Promise me you're going to live the normal American dream that doesn't involve any demons or witches or ghouls or ghosts. Just family, happiness and normality."

Sam's body trembles at his brother words, and he swallows hard, not daring to look at his older brother or mutter a single word because he knows if he does all that would come out of his mouth are broken sobs that would cause the barricade to break, and he knew that the moment one stray tears falls, it would be immediately followed by another hundred.

"Promise me Sammy." His brother pleads once more, his voice horse and broken, coated with desperation. "I _need_ to hear you say it."

"I promise." He whispers, and as he predicted the tears fell freely, one after another as his body shook to withhold the shattering sobs from escaping.

"Thankyou Sammy." Dean smiles, squeezing Sam's shoulder with all the strength he could muster. "Okay..erm." He fake coughs and forcefully clears his throat, using the sudden sound for his benefit and hastily wipes away the tears that had fallen and continues to fall with the sleeve of his leather jacket. "No more chick flick moments okay? Put some classic rock on. I need to man the fuck up."

Sam laughs through his tears, roughly wiping away the tears that streaked down his cheeks before he pushes the cassette into the player and one of Dean's beloved rock ballads begins to vibrate through the speakers of the Impala.

Dean shuffles in his seat once more, silently savouring the restriction of pain his body has been momentarily given as he adjusts his stiff and aching body and leans his head once more against the window, the extremities of his throat burning from the overuse, and his mind and eyelids heavy.

He drove in silence, allowing the meticulous rhythm of Dean's beloved rock ballads to vibrate through his body, easing the somewhat unwanted knowledge that the reaper was etching even closer to his big brother as each second passed by.

Whenever the silence from his brother became too much, or when the sudden dread flushes through him rapidly, he unconsciously takes his eyes off the road before him and quickly glances to his older brother, just to make sure that his older brother's emerald eyes are still open and that his now shallow breath is still slightly fogging up the passenger's window; just to make sure he was still there; _still alive_.

The muscle car continues to ramble down the highway, further and further away from their childhood home. He didn't know where he was driving, but he knew he had to just _drive_.

Soon the cassette switches to Kansas' _Carry On My Wayward Son_ and Sam stifles a laugh. "Hey Dean," he begins, a small smirk plastered on his face as he stared directly at the road ahead. "Did I ever tell you that whenever you forced Dad to play this song, or when you hijacked the radio and played it; even when I was a little kid, I always considered this to kinda be like our theme song." He laughs momentarily, shaking his head at the preteen version of himself. "God knows why! I don't even really like your music!" he exclaims teasingly, a small smile spread across his lips as he laughs once more.

He expects a small laugh from his older brother, or hell, even a death glare for the fact he had just practically insulted his brother's taste in music, a muttered retort, a cocky remark; _anything._

He doesn't expect the silence.

The pure, raw, painful silence that causes his laughter to abruptly get caught in his throat.

"Come on Dean. Wake up. Up and at 'em." Sam calls, rapidly switching his gaze from the road to his brother, then back again. He holds back the majority of his strength as he nudges his elder brother's side as gently, yet as forcefully as he allowed himself too with his elbow, trying to wake his older brother from his apparent slumber.

Dean doesn't answer. Dean doesn't groan. Dean doesn't flinch. Dean doesn't push away his younger brother's lanky elbow and curse at him to just let him sleep like Sam expects him to.

Dean did nothing, and Sam feels the vile tighten around his heart and soul and his blood running cold as his body practically shuts down from the unnerving dread and pure agonistic fear that strikes him. He grips the steering wheel tighter, every single one of his knuckles radiating a deathly white from the force he was administrating; the exact deathly shade that now incorporated his brother's features.

"Dean?" he asks, it coming out more as a broken whisper as he feels his throat tighten up as his older brother's name attempts to escape through it.

He honestly wishes the silence would stop torturing him and just fuck off.

He practically has to dare himself to glance over at his brother's body once more; unshed tears immediately begin to well in his eyes as the panic ignites in his chest when he sees his brother's emerald eyes hidden, his eyelids drawn closed.

He looks peaceful, almost as if he were asleep, but it's the deadly stillness of his older brother's hunched body as it limply leans against the passenger's door and the lack of fog that once mystified the window from his brother's breath that tells him otherwise.

In his head he screams to whoever or whatever was listening; God, the Devil, he didn't care; praying and hoping that the only reason his brother hadn't replied was because he was trapped in the deep, abyss of an exhausted sleep.

But even if he refused to admit it, deep down he knew the truth.

"Dean!" he says even louder, trying to force his voice to mimic the dominant and gruff tone of their father. "Wake up!" he orders, hoping that this botched impression would somehow make Dean listen and wake up.

He always listened to whatever their father ordered.

But there wasn't the automatic response of 'yes sir'. There wasn't the slight trembling or flinching of the body. There was nothing but that damned silence.

Sam's brown, fearful eyes stared numbly at the hunched figure before him, silently pleading and searching for any sign of life. He was so engrossed into trying to find something to convince him that Dean was just sleeping, he hadn't noticed that the Impala had ventured onto the opposing side of the road; directly infront of an oncoming truck.

The sudden warning flare of the trucks horn snaps Sam out of his almost grief stricken catatonic state and he instinctively jerks the Impala off the asphalt, the quick motion sending his older brother's limp body to promptly fall away from the passenger's door and come to a rest against his younger brother's broad arm.

Adrenaline pulsates through him and with shaking hands he frantically unclasps his seatbelt, the touch of his older brother's frail and lifeless body against his bare skin sends an array of goosebumps to invade his flesh as the nauseating feeling of dread and grief continue to excel through his body.

He was already colder than he should be.

"Dean!" he frantically calls once again, shuffling in his leather seat to face his older brother and push him off his own skin. He places two shaking fingers against his older brother's jaguar, praying to feel that beat of life to vibrate through them.

"N—No no no!" The unshed tears he had been fighting begins to fall as he drastically moves his fingers around the paper thin flesh covering his older brother's neck, praying to find that beat of life.

"Dean!" he repeats frantically, as he leans over and grasps both of his brother's bony shoulders, shaking both of them fiercely, and probably with much more force than he should have allowed.

But at this point he didn't care.

Dean's body limply complies with Sam's frantic moments, fiercely rocking back and forth in unison with his younger brother's desperate attempts into trying to force him back into the land of the living.

"Dean! Dean! Come on….Please wake up….please!" The younger sibling begs as he tries to con his older brother to wake up, tears fuelled of grief and pain flows down both of his cheeks freely as his heart and soul continues to shatter at the lifeless image before him. "No….no-n-n-no, no. Dean. Please Dean, wake up. Oh God. Dean. Wake up. Please Wake up!"

His hands move from Dean's shoulders and gently cup both sides of his older brother's skeletal face, turning it to face his own. "Come on Dean. Please." He begs softly as he stares intently into his older brother's closed lids, just waiting for them to open. "Open those eyes for me Dean…You can do it. Come on Dean. Fight. Please…fight for me…" He pleads, his throat tightening and his chest breaking, immediately feeling the guilt grow as he realises that he's trying to manipulate and take advantage of his older brother's resilient oath to protect Sammy.

But honestly, he doesn't care. He numbly accepts the guilt growing, knowing that he fully well deserves it, but also knowing he'd do anything to get Dean to open those eyes back up.

He stays there, studying his brother face, watching, praying, and hoping for any kind of movement.

He half expects Dean to push himself away from his body and to slap him across the back of his head muttering "No chick flick moments" under his breath and telling his younger brother to "Suck it up and be a man" like he always did when things got a little bit too touchy-feely.

He literally feels himself crumble when not a single movement was made, not a single word spoken.

The strength to hold back the free falling tears had long since been defeated and now they just intensify, flowing endlessly from his red rimmed eyes as sobs begin to attack his body. "No…please God no." he gasps as he draws his brother to his chest and cradles his head against it.

"I'm not ready Dean….I need you here... God. Please wake up…I'm sorry for not being there. I'm so sorry." He gasps through his sobs as rocks his frail brother's body against his own, burying his face against his brother's short blonde locks, his tears causing them to become slightly damp as he continues to weep freely into them.

Not even eight hours.

Not even eight hours they had spent together rebuilding their broken brotherhood, talking, laughing, drinking, confessing.

Not even eight hours since he learnt the painful truth to what horrible torture his older brother had unwilling been forced to suffer through all by himself, without the care and support he so desperately needed.

How the fuck was he supposed to be ready to accept the fact that this disease was killing his brother in less than eight fucking hours…

That this disease _had _killed his brother.

He chokes on the realisation that this was it, that Dean was really gone, that he now held onto nothing but the body and the memories of his now deceased brother.

All the guilt and shame that had built up and grown over the last eight hours from abandoning the most important person in his life explodes inside the younger brother in under a second, triggering even more pain and anguish to ignite inside of him. He grips tighter onto the fabric of his older brother's leather jacket, savouring the distinctive smell of beer, gunpowder and _Dean_ that lingered on it.

No doubt that Dean would be calling him a fucking pervert for _smelling _him.

The laugh that tries to escape from his throat comes out as some sort of whiny pig grunt as it mixes with the sobs thundering through his body. He pulls Dean closer to his body, the sobs shuddering through the younger brother's body radiated through to his older brother's lifeless body, and he grips tighter to his shirt, as if letting him go somehow meant he allowed and accepted the fact he was now gone.

He was nowhere near ready to accept it.

Nowhere near ready to say goodbye.

And he honestly doubted he ever would be ready.

-x-

**The End.**

**A/N 2: So…What did you think? Loved it? Hated it? **

**Did you cry? If so when?**

**Favourite scene between the two boys?**

**Should I do another chapter about the aftermath or seeing everyone's reactions? **

**Please give me some feedback! Good or bad I don't care!**

**Hope you did enjoy!**

**-Lexii xo**


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